His mustache tickles. I pull back, tapping the brim of his hat.
“I love her,” I say. “I better go check on Delia though.”
“I’ve got the monitor in my pocket,” he says. “She’s been rustling, but she’s not up yet.”
“Where’s Landis?”
“Back in the garage. I told him to check on Chicken and get him dinner,” he says, opening the stall door to let me out. I start to walk past him, but his arm shoots out and wraps around my waist, pulling me against his body.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says.
“Uh oh.”
“It’s nothing bad. I just wanted to get a timeline on your plans for the next few years.”
I stare, trying to figure out what he’s getting at. “Why? You planning on doing some complicated project?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Planning on doing this pussy.”
“It ain’t that complicated, but you’re welcome to it.”
“Not for me, anyway,” he drawls.
I roll my eyes, hands on his chest. “So what are you wanting to get into?”
“I’m just trying to figure out what you want your family to look like,” he says. “When we might want to have another baby.”
“Oh? What’s got you thinking about that?”
“Deacon’s already talking about it.”
“He’s talking about us having another baby?”
“No, he’s talking about knocking Freya up again. And he’s got some pretty valid points.”
I pull back, hands on my hips. “Oh, really? What points?”
He shrugs. “About staggering out ages and taking into account I’m a fair bit older than you.”
“Well, I’m not ready to get knocked up again,” I say. “But I’m open to it. So come and ask me in about six months, and then we can negotiate. Deal?”
I hold out my hand. His face breaks into that smile I love more than anything, and he shakes my hand. Before I can pull back, he tugs me close, picks me up, and slings me over his shoulder. The world spins as I hang upside down, and I’m blushing like crazy.
He carries me up the front walkway and deposits me in the kitchen. I’m flustered, my hair all messed up. He steps back to peer atLandis through the garage door before pushing me against the fridge to go in for another kiss.
I’m falling hard every day, again and again.
A rustle comes from his pocket, and we break apart, knowing naptime is over. “Go on upstairs and get Delia,” I whisper. “I’ll start dinner.”
He kisses me one more time before heading to the nursery. I lay out my pork belly and start cutting it in chunks, the oil heating up in my big pan. He’s back in a few minutes with Delia in his arms, walking carefully, trying not to jostle his girl.
“I think she’s hungry,” he says.
I wipe my fingers on a rag. “You want to get her a bottle? I pumped earlier.”
He’s already opening the fridge to retrieve it. While it warms, he sinks down at the kitchen table and shifts Delia to his hands. She fits perfectly in them, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.
“I don’t know, but I think we got the cutest baby ever made,” he says.
